


The Grimes Family

by CanonCannon



Series: The Turn [1]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: (referenced and briefly described), Bi!Negan, Child Abuse, Childhood Friends, Childhood Trauma, Drug Use (Implied), Found Family, Friends to Brothers, Gay!Daryl, Gen, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Negan Being Negan, Rickyl Bromance, Self-Indulgent, Straight!Rick, not a Negan fan, not friends to lovers, sexual relationship between a 16 year old and a 20 year old, zero understanding of how law enforcement operates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:36:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27185995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CanonCannon/pseuds/CanonCannon
Summary: Rick and Daryl's friendship at 8, 10, 12, 14, and 16.Note: This is technically a prequel to two other fics, which take place when Rick and Daryl are adults and involved a Daryl/Jesus plot. This fic completely stands alone as a 100% Rickyl bromance/found family story, though.
Relationships: Daryl Dixon & Rick Grimes, Daryl Dixon/Negan, Daryl Dixon/Rick Grimes, Lori Grimes/Rick Grimes, sexual relationships are either implied or briefly described, this is a Rickyl bromance fic
Series: The Turn [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/687789
Comments: 11
Kudos: 31





	The Grimes Family

**Author's Note:**

> Some warnings:
> 
> The Grimes family has a very "we should mind our own business," attitude about Daryl being abused for a lot longer in this fic than anyone ought to in real life, if they know a child is in an unsafe home. I was trying to channel an old-timey "it's not our business" mentality (especially with Rick's dad having come from an abusive home and seeing it as the norm), combined with knowledge that they might be making Daryl's life significantly worse if they report his father and he enters the system. Also, Daryl lies and tries to hide how bad it is, Will Dixon is in and out of prison, Daryl's usually safe when Merle is around... basically, my head canon about my own story is that Rick's parents came close to making official complaints and/or arresting Will Dixon on several occasions, but let those kinds of mitigating circumstances convince them to put it off.
> 
> None of that would excuse this in real life, obvs.

8

“Hey, Daryl!” Rick said brightly, looking up from his math homework. His dad, Chief Deputy Sheriff Richard Grimes, had just opened the door, steering Daryl into the room with one hand on his shoulder. Rick began clearing a space beside him at the table, giving Daryl a place to drop his backpack.

The room, lit by a dismal overhead light and one tiny window high on the wall, was nominally a second interview room. However, the deputies in their sleepy town almost never needed a second interview room, so it served mostly as a place to corral the boss’s eight-year-old son, keeping him out of the way on days when his mother was working.

And, for lack of a better option—ever since Mrs. Dixon had died, there wasn’t a responsible adult to look after the boy—Daryl often ended up penned in there as well, until someone could get ahold of Merle or until Richard got off duty and could drive him home.

Chief Deputy Grimes simply didn’t know what else to do with the small boy who was so often in the passenger seat while his father was careening all over the road, or trying to do homework at the back corner of the bar when Will got picked up for his weekly drunk & disorderlies. Sometimes Daryl and his father were at the station as much as three or four times a week, if the man was on a real bender. Those were also the only weeks Daryl ever had bruises on his face. Will Dixon forgot to be careful, when he was on a bender.

“Hey,” Daryl said, tossing his bag on the table. “Have you got that stupid book about the pig on you? Mine’s at home, and I’m only up to chapter ten.” As Rick started to dig through his backpack for the book, Daryl turned back to the Chief Deputy Sheriff and asked shyly, “Officer Grimes, if you ain’t in a rush to book him, can I go ask Merle for a dollar? He’s shitfaced enough, he might give me one for the vending machine.”

“Language, Daryl,” Rick’s father said, but he motioned to the deputy whose desk was closest to keep an eye on the boy as he walked down the tiny hallway to the actual interview room.

“It’s Merle?” Rick asked, dismayed.

“Yeah.” His father looked tired, removing his hat to wipe his brow with a handkerchief.

“You have to?” Rick asked, trying to sound like he understood, like it wasn’t confusing that his daddy’s job meant that he had to lock up Daryl’s best chance of not getting whipped black and blue that night.

“Yeah, son, I have to. He punched a tourist, and it’s looking like they’re going to press charges.”

“Could- could Daryl stay at our house tonight, then?” Rick asked tentatively, an idea he’d been nervously formulating since the last time Daryl showed up at school pale and wincing. “Shane spends the night on school nights sometimes, and- and the other kids laugh at Daryl, when he comes to school hurt.”

“I hope you don’t laugh at him.”

“I don’t,” Rick said uneasily, because he also hadn’t stepped up to defend Daryl. They didn’t really hang out at school—Daryl hung out with the other kids who lived in Oak Hollow trailer park, the younger siblings of his brother’s friends. The bad kids.

Even Daryl’s friends had laughed at him last time, because his ass was so hurt that he’d made a sharp, whimpering noise when he sat down, and Daryl had ended up punching one of the other Oak Hollow boys right in the nose because they all kept running up behind him and smacking his ass with their binders.

His dad frowned. “You’d like that? Having Daryl over to spend the night?”

“Yeah!” Rick said. “He says he can teach me how to make a rabbit trap, and how to start a fire without any matches.”

“Daryl’s father will have to agree,” his dad said thoughtfully, “and your mother, too. Don’t tell her that part about the fire.” His wife, May, already wasn’t a big fan of the Dixons. No respectable people in the town were, really.

“Merle don’t know where his wallet is. Useless,” Daryl said as he entered the room. He paused, surprised that the officer was still in there. “Uh. Thank you for letting me ask anyhow, officer.”

“You’re welcome, Daryl. You boys get reading, I hear that book report is due on Monday.”

“Yes, sir,” Daryl said, sitting, and Richard left them alone together, thinking about his son.

Ten minutes later, he brought in two sodas and a bag of chips for them to split from the vending machine.

His own father had liked moonshine more than was good for him, too. Not so bad as Will Dixon, but Richard remembered days when it had hurt to sit at his desk at school. He was also proud of Rick for befriending a boy from Oak Hollow, a boy most of his classmates probably feared or ridiculed. And May spoiled the boy—it would be good for him, to understand how folks less fortunate than himself lived. To see how lucky he was, to have the life he did.

So when Richard finished booking Merle Dixon, he called May at work, then the Dixon home.

As he suspected, Will Dixon was already drunk, and utterly indifferent to where his youngest son spent the night.

—

Holding his backpack in one hand, Daryl stood in the Grimes family’s living room a few hours later, staring at a large cabinet full of blue and white dishes. He was surprised at how fancy their house was, how different from his own. There was a third bedroom they used as an office for Rick’s daddy, and Rick had his own desk in there for doing homework. Rick’s room had its own television, plus shelf after shelf of toys and books besides.

“You must be Daryl,” Rick’s mother said, coming in from the kitchen. Daryl thought she was nice-looking, pretty in the way that moms on TV were pretty. The mothers in Oak Hollow didn’t look like that—Daryl’s mom had been the only pretty one, there.

Mrs. Grimes was wearing an apron, her hair was neat and wavy, and Rick had clearly inherited her eyes. Daryl watched them wander from his face to his hands. “You can drop your things in Ricky’s room, then go wash up before supper. I hope you like fried chicken.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Daryl said, immediately more enthusiastic for this whole turn of events. He still didn’t know why on earth he was here, but it couldn’t be too bad if he got a fried chicken dinner out of the arrangement. “Uh, do you- do you need any help in the kitchen? I can’t cook or nothing, but I reckon I could do something easy, if you told me how.”

She smiled at him, her surprise evident. “No, thank you, Daryl. You go on, I’ll call you boys when supper’s ready.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said again, ducking his head, and he walked down the small hallway toward Rick’s room.

10

They were essentially allowed to run wild outside all summer, so long as Rick was back home in time for supper. Today they had come home smelling like a swamp, Rick rushing to tell his mother all about the buck he had followed for almost a mile without any help from Daryl in tracking it.

“Wish I’d had my bow, or Daddy’s rifle,” Daryl grumbled, pulling off his boots on the welcome mat. “Waste of a ten point buck.”

“You take the first shower, Daryl,” Rick’s mother said from the doorway, looking at the two in fond disapproval. “It wasn’t enough to wade in the creek, you had to have a good wallow?”

“I fell, trying to catch a frog,” Daryl mumbled, not looking at her. “Sorry, Mrs. Grimes.”

Rick frowned, glancing between Daryl and his mother. Daryl was never shy with her anymore.

“That’s alright, sweetheart. Go on now, supper’s in the oven.”

Once Daryl was down the hall, May Grimes asked her son, “Everything okay with you two?”

“Yeah, I think. Maybe he just didn’t want to shower?”

“Boys,” she sighed, wrinkling her nose. “Get him something clean to wear, I’ll throw your wet things in the wash.”

—

While Rick was in the shower and Mrs. Grimes was finishing up dinner, Daryl approached Rick’s father cautiously, lingering in the doorway to the office until the man glanced up. Richard waved him in, surprised—even after two years of being Rick’s friend, the boy was still shy around him. He usually went to May, if he needed anything.

“Yes, Daryl? Are you alright?”

“Yes, sir.” He stood there in the doorway, shifting his weight awkwardly, his damp hair sticking out in all directions. Richard caught his distrustful glance at the glass of whisky in his hand, like it might jump out and bite him. Frowning, he set it down on the desk beside him.

“Is Rick still in the shower? You can use the restroom in our bedroom, if you need to.” As Daryl stepped into the room, he saw that the boy was clutching his backpack in both hands, his knuckles white.

“No, sir, it- it ain’t that. It’s, uh.” The boy closed his eyes, evidently going for broke, “If I tell you that I’m gonna commit a crime, that’s the same as you catching me, ain’t it?”

Richard sat forward in his armchair, setting his newspaper down beside his whisky. “No, son, it’s not the same. Confessing before you commit a crime... that means you’re doing the right thing, Daryl. You don’t get in trouble for that.”

“But if- if you- could you _pretend_ that you caught me, then? So- so’s you can arrest me, but I won’t have to actually do it first?” Daryl’s lip trembled. “Only... please don’t tell Mrs. Grimes how come.” He wiped at his eyes with his sleeve on the last few words—he was wearing one of Rick’s baseball shirts, but it was a little large on his smaller frame.

Richard was beginning to understand what this might be about.

“Daryl, did your daddy tell you to do something you don’t want to do?” Will Dixon was newly out of prison after an eighteen month stretch. Richard wasn’t sure what the man made of his boy’s unlikely friendship with the Chief Deputy Sheriff’s son—Lord knew the rest of the town had opinions about it. Dixon was a lazy man down to his core, and Richard doubted he would kick up a fuss about how his son chose to spend his time, but he worried that it would make life a littler harder for the boy at home.

Daryl had been thriving for the last eighteen months, even under Merle’s haphazard guardianship. It was a shame to see Will’s renewed presence made tangible by the bruises blossoming up Daryl’s arms, and the welts on his back that the child worked so hard to hide. Richard believed in a man’s right to raise his children as he saw fit, but he was more and more certain that what Will did wasn’t about raising Daryl at all. Daryl was a good boy, far more obedient than Rick—you barely had to look at him cross, and he’d toe the line. Will’s ‘discipline’ was unnecessary, purposeless violence, just a bad man taking out his own rage and disappointment at the world on his son’s small shoulders.

“I didn’t want to,” Daryl said, the tears in his eyes finally breaking free and spilling down his cheeks. Unzipping the front pocket of the ratty backpack, he dumped a small handful of May’s jewelry onto the table. “I didn’t want to take them, cause- cause Mrs. Grimes probably really likes this stuff, but if I don’t then my daddy is gonna- he said- can this count as you catching me, please?” he begged. “I took ‘em from your room, so I stole them, right? And you can arrest me, and tell my daddy that you caught me, so- so I did what he said, but Mrs. Grimes can still keep her jewelry?”

Sighing, Richard looked down at the crying, motherless boy. If Will, that piece of shit, had asked Daryl to steal something of his, or maybe even something of Rick’s, the child might have gone through with it.

“How about this: I’m not going to arrest you, but we’ll tell your daddy that I caught you with this all in your backpack—because that’s true, in a way, isn’t it?—and then watched you the rest of the night until I drove you home. And I’ll say something to him, so he doesn’t ask you to do anything like this again.”

“Okay,” Daryl said after a long moment, wiping his nose on his sleeve. “Thank you, sir. I’m- I’m real sorry I took ‘em.”

“I know you are. You did the right thing, Daryl. If your father does ask you to do something like this again, you come tell me, and we’ll work out a plan together, alright?”

“Yes, sir.” Daryl started to turn, then paused and said, “He said I can’t come over here anymore, if I don’t start making something worthwhile of it. So- so if I ain’t coming around as much, that’s why. Not because I don’t _want_ to come over.”

Richard heard the bathroom door open down the hall, and his son moving into his room. “You go help May set the table, now. I’ll drive you home after supper, and we’ll talk to your daddy then.”

“Thank you,” Daryl said, and then added in a small voice, “Are you gonna tell Mrs. Grimes?”

“No, Daryl. We can keep this between us.” 

12

“You sure you two will be alright out here by yourselves?” May Grimes asked nervously, looking around at the little camp. She had been left this property by her grandfather, and she and Richard were always talking about building a little cabin someday, right on the lake. For now, they mostly used it to camp out over the summer, especially in years when they couldn’t afford to take a real vacation. Daryl had come with them a handful of times, but this would be the boys’ first time camping by themselves—and they were staying the whole weekend.

“He- uh, heck yeah, Mrs. Grimes,” Daryl said confidently, looking up from where he was building a fire. “Merle and me used to spend every weekend out here, when I was little. Well, not _here_ here, but over in the national park. Same difference. The rangers say y’ain’t supposed to camp in the park without a permit, but they never caught us. And I camped out there all by myself once, too—well, _technically_ I was lost, not camping—but I was only seven, then. I wouldn’t get lost _now_. Heck, you could leave us out here for two weeks and we’d be still be just fine. And maybe that would give me enough time to teach Rick how to hit the broad side of a barn with the crossbow.”

“Hey!” Rick said from where he was setting up their tent. “You said last time that I was getting better!”

“You are, but you still suck at it.”

“Language, Daryl,” May said, but she smiled. It was rare to see Daryl so obviously happy, these days, chattering in long, run-on sentences the way he used to when he and Rick were younger and she’d take them out for ice cream and hamburgers. “A weekend is long enough for now. If this trip goes well, we’ll see about a longer one this summer.”

Daryl grinned up at her, brushing his hair out of his face. The bruise on his neck was nearly healed, just a greenish smudge, but Will Dixon would likely be out of county lockup again by the end of the week.

“Alright, I’ll be back on Sunday. You go to the park rangers’ station across the lake if you need anything.” May dug into her oversized purse. “I bought you boys some things for s’mores-”

“Jackpot!” Rick said, rushing up to take the baggies.

“Thanks, Mrs. Grimes!” Daryl added, just as excited.

“-but you two eat some real food while you’re out here, too, you hear me? There’s fruit and sandwiches, too.”

“Daryl’s gonna teach me how to clean a duck and roast it on the fire,” Rick said, sorting through the large candy bars she’d bought. She had gone a little overboard.

She wished she could do more.

May shuddered, casting a suspicious glance at the dirty crossbow sitting by their backpacks before turning to leave. “Just be sure you cook it all the way through, before eating it.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Daryl said, standing as the fire began to blaze. “Christ, Rick, ain’t you gonna walk your mama back up to the car? She ain’t got a flashlight, jackass.”

“ _Language_!” May said, more sternly this time.

“Yes, ma’am. Sorry, ma’am.”

She sighed. “Come here, Daryl.”

He walked closer, still looking chagrined, but May just kissed him on the forehead. “Happy birthday, sweetheart. You boys have fun.”

—

Later that night, sitting by the dying fire with their stomachs full of s’mores (and nothing else), Rick asked the question he’d wanted to ask Daryl for years, now, but never had. Somehow, the calm, serene intimacy of being alone together in the woods made it possible to gently take Daryl’s wrist in his hands and pulling up the sleeve. “How come you won’t let my daddy report him? He gets mad about it, when he sees that you’re hurt.”

Daryl bit his lip and stayed silent, but he didn’t pull away. The bruising around his forearm was visible even in the dim light.

“Not mad at _you_ , just… mad in general, I guess. He told me that you won’t say nothing bad about your daddy to him at all, though. And my mom wants him to try anyway, call Child Protective Services even if you won’t say nothing, but Dad says it won’t go nowhere unless you agree to talk about it. So why- how come…” He paused, frustrated. “I know he’s your dad, but- but he hurts you all the time. How come you want to stay with him?”

Pulling his wrist back, Daryl sighed, looking at the sky rather than Rick. “You know what happens to kids whose daddies get reported to the state?”

“They go stay with new families, don’t they?”

“Sure, when they’re young and cute. A funny-looking twelve-year-old? And a Dixon, besides? I’d go to the group home down in Waverly. I'd have to change schools, and I’d be half an hour away from- from here. Merle went, once, before I was even born. Someone reported my daddy for knocking him down in the grocery store, so there were witnesses—he’s smarter about it, now.” Daryl’s brow creased. “The older kids, the teenagers, they’d hurt the littler ones. Like, hurt them in real bad ways. Merle was only there for two nights before my mama convinced the social worker to give him back, but he told me- he said they were the scariest nights of his life, in that group home.”

“Well then… then maybe my parents could-”

“Your dad said they could try, but… he’s arrested my daddy loads of times, and Merle, too. Said it might look funny to the judge, him trying to get custody of me, like a, uh, a vendetta.” Daryl pronounced the word carefully, not quite sure he was saying it correctly. “Told me that he can’t guarantee the judge would let me stay with y’all.”

Rick blinked, surprised. He hadn’t realized his parents had already discussed taking Daryl in.

Daryl shrugged, leaning back against the log they’d dragged over to serve as a bench. “It’s only six more years, then I’ll burn rubber out of this place. And your daddy said something to him, the last time he whipped me, and he hasn’t done it since. This is nothing.” He waved his bruised wrist, dismissive, “I weren’t fast enough, fetching his dinner, is all. It don't even hurt much.”

Sighing, Rick tried to accept that answer. Six years seemed like a lifetime. A couple of minutes later, he asked, “What do you want to do? Like, when you grow up, to get out of here?”

“I…” Daryl hesitated, fiddling with the pine needles on the ground between them. “Promise not to tell nobody?”

“Sure, I promise.”

“I, uh. I think I want to be a cop.” He rushed to add, “I know it’s stupid, no police in their right mind would hire a Dixon, but- but maybe if I move away from Georgia. Maybe then.” He stared at the fire, tense, and Rick knew he was waiting to be made fun of.

“I think you’d be a great cop.”

Startled, Daryl looked up to face him. “You mean it?”

“Course I do. You can already shoot, and you could track criminals through the woods if they try to run. You should ask my dad about it, see what classes you oughta take in high school to get ready.”

“Maybe I will,” Daryl said softly, with a small smile.

14

“This isn’t fair.”

“Son, he got caught. What do you want me to tell Mrs. Price? That I’m letting Daryl off the hook because he’s friends with my son? Because I like him? The law’s the law.”

“Tell her you’re letting him off because his family made him do it!”

“Daryl says they didn’t.”

“He’s lying! And you know he’s lying!”

“Yeah,” his dad said heavily, sitting in the chair next to Rick. “Yeah, I know he’s lying. And Daryl knows that I know. But if he won’t tell me who forced him-”

“You know that, too! Or near enough.”

“Rick, I can’t act on what I _think_ happened. That’s not how the job works. I need statements, evidence—hell, at least cooperation—if Daryl wants to stay out of trouble.”

Rick scowled, but before he could respond, his mother came in the room. “Rick? Honey, you were supposed to meet me outside, what’s-”

“Dad arrested Daryl,” Rick said quickly, and watched her turn to her husband with raised eyebrows.

“He was caught red-handed, stealing a bunch of medications from the market that are used in manufacturing methamphetamines. Mrs. Price called while he was still in the store, then she had her nephew try to grab him, some shelves were knocked over… I found him heading back down the road towards Oak Hollow. The medications were in his backpack.”

“You know Daryl wouldn’t do that,” she said, frowning at her husband.

“He _did_ do it, May.”

“That boy asks permission before he takes a tissue to blow his nose.”

Richard bit his lip, glancing at his son, and Rick knew that his father hadn’t wanted him to hear whatever he was about to say next. “He’s... not quite himself right now.” At his wife’s blank stare, he explained reluctantly, “The boy was high on something, some kind of drug. He wouldn’t tell me what. And he had his hunting knife on his belt in the store—he didn’t threaten anyone with it, didn’t unsheathe it, but... the judge is talking like Daryl was prepared for armed robbery and possession with intent to sell.”

“Daryl always has that knife on him!” Rick said, because he couldn’t work out how to defend Daryl about the drugs. It reminded him that Daryl was still a Dixon, still Will’s son and Merle’s brother. His life was, in many ways, fundamentally different from Rick’s, and probably always would be.

May was silent for a long moment before saying, ”Well, don’t stop there. How is this sort of thing handled, with a child?”

“He was already arraigned—Mrs. Price is in the Methodist Aid Society with Judge Hollister’s wife, and she was insistent—so he goes to the county juvenile facility this afternoon.” At May’s outraged look, he added, “I know, it’s not fair for a first offense. The judge heard ‘Dixon’ and set bail at- well, high enough that Daryl will have to stay there until his hearing. Nobody is going to loan Will Dixon that kind of money.”

“And if they did, he wouldn’t spend it on Daryl,” May said with venom. “And there was nothing you could do, with Mrs. Price? Or with Judge Hollister?”

Her husband sighed, rubbing his eyes. He’d hated this whole day, every minute of it—how badly he’d wanted Mrs. Price to be mistaken in her early morning call to dispatch, how disappointed he’d felt when he saw Daryl’s blown pupils and clammy skin, how enraging it had been to listen to the boy lie to him, right to his face, when Richard was just trying to help him. “Do you know what happens, if I start doing treating Daryl different, keeping him out of trouble when he does something wrong?” She didn’t respond, so he continued, “Why do you think Merle’s gang is using him in the first place? If I let Daryl off lightly this time, they’ll keep using him. Better that the boy gets scared straight now, and they learn that he won’t get any special treatment from me just because he’s friends with Rick. A couple weeks, maybe a month in juvie, and Daryl won’t do anything like this again.”

His wife stared at him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. “I understand,” she said finally, “I know you’re just doing your job, honey.” And then she left, without even asking to see Daryl.

Rick glared after her, then stormed away from his father to the holding cell.

—

“Hey, Grimes,” Daryl said when Rick entered the room. He was pale and his eyes were red; Rick had never seen Daryl cry, so he figured it must be from the drugs.

He hated the idea of Daryl getting high. They’d talked so much about Merle, how different he’d been before the drugs. How drugs and liquor affected Mr. Dixon, too. And now here was Daryl, doing the exact thing he hated, throwing his life away exactly like his brother and his father before him.

Sitting on the folding chair where a guard would usually be, Rick asked, “What the fuck were you thinking, Daryl?”

Daryl somehow seemed to shrink into himself, even though he was already sitting with his arms around his knees in a tight ball on the bunk. “You know us criminal types. Can’t help ourselves,” he said blandly, no longer looking at Rick.

“Tell my dad who’s actually cooking the meth,” Rick urged, leaning forward on his elbows. “He already knows someone made you do it.”

“Nobody made me.”

“Bullshit.”

“Nobody made me!” Daryl repeated, stubborn, but he was a bad liar. “Get out of here, Rick. Go do your homework like a good boy.”

“They’re gonna send you to juvie, dipshit,” Rick almost yelled, not wanting to be overheard but wishing he could strangle Daryl through the bars. “You want to get locked up, have this on your record forever, for Merle? No, for Merle’s _meth_?”

“It weren’t-” Daryl started, then abruptly stopped himself, glaring at Rick. “Merle spent half his teen years in juvie. It was only a matter of time before my first stint.”

“Shut up! Just… shut up, it doesn’t have to be like this. _You_ don’t have to be like them.” Rick said, clenching his fists. “You can at least _try_ to be better than this. Why are you-”

“Go away, Rick,” Daryl said tiredly, moving to lay on his side so that his back was to the room. His shirt rode up slightly, and Rick could see a raw, angry-looking lash across his lower back. “See you when I get back, I guess.”

As Rick opened the door to storm out, Daryl called out, still facing the wall, “You gonna write me while I’m gone?”

“No,” Rick spat, angry. “I’ll throw you a party when you get your dumb ass back home.”

—

Merle came striding in about an hour later, fast enough that the deputy at the front desk startled and almost reached for his weapon. Merle ignored him.

“Where’s your daddy, piglet?” he asked Rick, eyes searching the hall behind him.

“Getting Daryl ready for transfer,” Rick said, scowling up at him. “Daryl’s been arraigned, says it was all his idea to steal that shit.”

Merle grimaced. “Swear to god, the boy’s dumb as a rock. Is that the worst of it?”

“You mean that ain’t bad enough?”

“I mean, did the stupid little fucker punch a cop when they were bringing him in?”

“No. It was my dad that brought him.” After a moment, he added, “He was high, though. And he had that giant hunting knife with him.”

“ _Dumber_ than a rock,” Merle sighed. He moved to the door and called to the depties at their desks, “Anybody gonna shoot me, if I go back to visit the prisoner?”

“I’m right here,” Daryl said, as Rick’s father led him into the room. He wasn’t handcuffed, but he was wearing a pair of scrubs with ‘Youth Detention Center’ at the breast, and a large ‘A’ covering most of his chest.

Merle stepped forward, ignoring his brother. “I did it, Deputy Grimes. The boy’s just covering for me.”

“Merle!” Daryl snarled, trying to move toward him. Rick’s dad stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t you fucking dare-”

Rick’s father didn’t let go of Daryl’s shoulder. “You’re confessing?”

“Yeah, I’m confessing, now get him the hell out of those rags.”

“Merle ain’t got nothing to do with it,” Daryl said loudly, glaring at his brother.

“Boy, close your damn mouth and keep it closed, if you know what’s good for you,” Merle growled, eyes not moving from the Chief Deputy Sheriff.

“What exactly are you confessing to, Mr. Dixon?”

“Stealing.”

“Stealing what?”

“Stealing whatever got stole.” He rolled his eyes.

“You weren’t there. Mrs. Price says Daryl was alone in the store.”

“I made him, then. I _coerced_ him—that’s the legal word, ain’t it? I ‘used intimidation or threat of force,’ made him go steal a bunch of shit for me. Poor baby boy’s terrified of me, too much of a pussy to tell me no.”

“God damn it, Merle-” Daryl started again, only to be silenced by Deputy Grimes’ look.

“And what did you tell Daryl to steal, Mr. Dixon?”

“Jesus, Grimes, I’m already doing your damn job here, you need me to wipe your ass for you, too? I told him to steal whatever the fuck he stole. If you found it on him and it weren’t his, I made him take it.”

“Merle, you stupid sack of shit, you’re on parole. He didn’t do nothing, Mr. Grimes-” Daryl began, but then they all shut up—even the deputy at the front desk stopped pretending not to eavesdrop and outright stared instead—because May Grimes came through the front door, brandishing a small stack of paperwork, her heels clacking loudly on the dirty tile.

“May, what-”

“He’s been released on bail,” she said grimly, handing her husband the forms. “Daryl, go ask Officer Haroldson for your clothes back. You can change in Mr. Grimes’ office.”

Blanching, Daryl stared at her, looking stricken. “You- you paid-”

“ _Move_ _it_ , young man! Today is not the day to try my patience.”

“Yes, Mrs. Grimes,” he said, voice barely audible, and turned to leave the room.

To everyone’s surprise, she turned on Merle next. “Daryl’s hearing is next week. I expect you to inform your father that he will be staying with us until then—we can’t afford to lose that bail money, so I will be escorting him to court. I spoke to Mrs. Price, she isn’t going to press charges so long as someone fixes the shelves that got busted when he ran off. I expect you to do so.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Merle said meekly, and after a moment added, “Thank you, ma’am. He don’t belong in juvie.”

“No, he doesn’t,” she agreed. “I don’t think you sent Daryl into that store,” (this evidently surprised Merle—and it sure surprised Rick), “but you tell whoever did, and whichever of your friends was reprehensible enough to give drugs to a _child_ , that Chief Deputy Grimes was ready to let them throw the book at Daryl. You tell your friends, and your father if necessary, that this was all me, not my husband, and that I won’t do any of it again. I believe in second chances, but not third ones. Do you hear me?”

“I hear you,” Merle said.

“Go on, then,” May told him. “Your little brother is about to get the talking-to of his life.”

**Author's Note:**

> They're 16 in chapter two, which is already drafted and will be posted soon.


End file.
